


the magic of christmas

by abderian



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Christmas, Christmas AU, Human!Liam, I'm not saying what Harry is, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Santa's Workshop, elf!Louis, elf!Niall, narry endgame - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 15:56:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5503799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abderian/pseuds/abderian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Niall, one day that will be you. You will be the one changing Christmas, and making the magic grow.’</p><p>As a young elf Niall dreamed of working at the workshop, of the magic that came with hand crafting gifts, and the wonder of children of a Christmas morning.</p><p>But dreams don't always come true, and he finds himself caught in a world that he no longer recognises.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the magic of christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [disequilibrium (laserbeamer)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=disequilibrium+%28laserbeamer%29).



There was something about the soft swirl of powdery snow, kissing his ever red cheeks and settling on the frosted tips of his hair. Eyes closed, and face turned upwards, the ever lingering scent of gingerbread dancing along the street. It was peaceful, the soft great snow clouds hovering, obscuring all but a few beams of moonlight that filtered down, touching the ornate awnings and icy footpaths.

His eyes remained closed, but he could picture the gentle flicker of the coloured lights, the rustle of pine needles against tinsel. He could hear the soft humming of Christmas carols, the drunken laughs of friends as they spilled eggnog and exchanged poorly wrapped presents.

Sighing he opened his eyes, gaze wondering along the decrepit village. The lights feebly twinkled, strands of darkness between those which still clung to life. The scent of gingerbread was stale and burnt, forgotten in an oven, a memory of what should had been.

Niall could see the echoes of his childhood, some countless years ago, sitting under the perpetually glowing oil lamp, fingers whittling away at a block of wood. He would smile brightly up at each person who walked past, proudly showing them his doll, telling them how one day he was going to help make the toys, just like his father before him.

Most would simply nod, becoming hurrying away to the bakeries and post offices that called to them. Only the best ever found themselves within the walls of the workshop, it was a lifetime of work to earn the privilege. Only the elves who had the nimblest fingers, the brightest minds and that creative spark that could take a misshapen piece of wood, fallen from the heights of a pine tree during a blizzard and turn it into a gift that would in the hands of a child be priceless.

It was a simpler time back then, Niall realised, his boots crunching on the white and untouched snow. A doll, her face painted elegantly with blushing cheeks and cherry lips, hair curled gently around her face, and a tiny pinafore, hand sown with the finest silk, was considered a luxury. Each gift was made with the precision of the hands of the elf, no two dolls were alike, and plastic did not exist.

The ornately carved wooden radio would sit nestled tight against the wall, a mug of hot chocolate clenched tightly in Niall’s small hands, the steam curling around his face, as he stared at his father’s blistered and calloused hands in wonder, watching as they moved through the air, miming the action of painting, and sanding as he described how the elves had discovered the correct curvature and shape to make this year’s baseball bats more aerodynamic. His father would rub a hand against his lined face, his blue eyes so much younger than his few hundred years, and he would clasp onto his son’s shoulder, a wry smile as he said, ‘Niall, one day that will be you. You will be the one changing Christmas, and making the magic grow.’

Those words had echoed with Niall through the centuries, and now it was with a bitter irony that he passed that old oil lamppost, rust winding around its base, and the glass panels fractured and broken, the cracks illuminated by the incandescent unnatural thrum from the electric lights that hummed to life in the desolated street.

Niall kicked against the old lamppost, hearing the dull, metallic thud echo, same as it had in the past when a boy, not much older than him had flung himself against it, the vibrations travelling down Niall’s spine, causing him to cross his eyes, the tiny needle that was threading through a button pricking his finger, tiny droplets of blood staining the jacket that he had very nearly finished.

His lips had pulled back against his teeth, eyes flashing as he looked toward the sky, only to be met with the angular face of an elf who looked like they belonged to the woods rather than the workshop. He was all cheekbones and a strong jaw, his nose slightly upturned and his ears tapered and pointed so sharply that Niall wondered if he was to run his fingers across the others face, would his fingers be cut and bloody.

The others eyes were blue, not unlike Niall’s, but also completely different. Niall’s eyes were the laughter and emotion, they were clear and bright, open, a window that he had not yet learned to close. The others were more steely, grey, and secretive, yet mischievous and flashing, a promise of someone who was untrusting and guarded, yet Niall could see the tiny flicker of warmth as the boy relaxed, plopping right down on the snow covered footpath next to Niall.

He tilted his head, and watched with unequivocal fascination as Niall’s fingers moved gently along the fabric, pulling at lose strings, and folding, sowing, a peacock blue coat that would sit neatly atop the white dress, lace dancing along the bottom, and tightly curled blonde ringlets would fall against the breast.

The sun was hanging low, and the distant hum of sleigh bells breathed through the trees, before either boy finally spoke.

His name was Louis, and he wanted to work with the reindeer. Niall wondered how he had ever though those blue eyes cold when he watched the light as the other boy talked about how he had found a young fawn, huddled at the roots of a tree, his head buried under his long limbs. Louis talked with absolute wonder at how the fawn had responded to his gentle prods, how he had held out a lichen covered branch, and the young fawn had lifted his head, bright intelligent eyes surveying the boy, before accepting the extended branch.

Louis had laughed then, head resting against Niall’s shoulder, as they sat on a low branch, the fir tree close enough to the edge of the forest that they could look out across the town, lights twinkling like tiny gumdrops on a gingerbread house. He hadn’t even told Niall the best part, the part of his little secret that made that little fawn all the more special.

‘His nose was red Niall. Bright red, like the apples in the orchard, and it glowed, brighter than any light that I have ever seen. I just know that little fawn is going to be special Niall, and I want to be there in the stables, cleaning his tack and shining the bells when everybody realises it.’

Niall sat on that branch, his side oddly cold, as he looked out across the town. The sky that was once clear, except for the glitter of falling snow and the twinkle of distant stars, was now smoggy and grey, heavy and imposing, a blanket that covered the town, preventing it from reaching for the heavens to perhaps find what it used to be.

No gentle plumes of smoke floated from the now frozen chimneys, and wooden boards covered the windows, with only the odd cursive letter visible beneath the rotten panels.

Louis had been right, that little fawn had gone onto greatness. He had been right, and Niall remembered standing among the crowd, nestled tight into the bodies of the parade that watched as the sleigh took flight that stormy night. His nose was pink and runny, fingers numb with cold, as sleet and wind wrapped his body in a freezing hug.

But his was warm, as he caught Louis eye, the boy older but just as angular, hay tangled through his hair, but smile wide and proud. Niall had never seen anyone as proud as Louis that day, watching as his little fawn, now grown with antlers that stood tall and proud took flight at the head of the sleigh.

Every Christmas, wandering through the crowded malls, pushing through the hurried groups of last minute Christmas shoppers, Niall would hear those words echoing from the speakers. ‘Rudolph the red nosed reindeer, had a very shiny nose.’ He used to snort at the injunction of ‘like a lightbulb’, a throwaway line added years after the songs original release, because these people had never actually seen how brightly that red glowed. It was brighter than a torch, a literal beacon, of both hope and direction. That little fawn was the embodiment of Christmas, and the only thing brighter than his nose was Louis smile the night that little fawn had taken flight.

He could hear the mechanical grind now, smell the smoke that wafted through the trees, and he adjusted the tight leather straps of his bag. His fingers fluttered against the pin like leaves, trying to find comfort in the familiarity that nature had not changed, not if he closed his ears to the silence and chose to listen instead to the memories of the chatter of robins, jumping along, leaving tiny prints in the snow.

Something had changed. Nobody can say when and nobody could say how, but Niall remembered how his father would come home from the workshop, eyes drawn and weary, and when Niall, rambunctious in his youth would pester for stories, asking what toy he had made, his father would just smile sadly and shake his head. There was no more spoken words of how Niall would change Christmas, never an indication of Niall going to work in the workshop, and Niall was confused. His fingers still nimbly made small keepsakes and toys from the limited material that lay forgotten in the village, but it wasn’t same.

He had forced the tiny figurines into Louis’ hands time and time again, trying to imagine that instead of Louis small smile, it was the tiny face of a child, lit with wonder and belief. He had nestled into Louis chest, nose pressed to his neck, the scent of nutmeg and wool and hay and reindeer comforting him, as he cried, he was no closer to his dream. No elf had been accepted into the workshop for years. Those wooden doors, painted with candy stripes of red and white scarcely opened anymore, and the jolly red man, whose booming laugh used to echo across all corners of the pole had not been seen for months.

That was the Christmas everything changed thought Niall bitterly. They had all lined up, huddled together, waiting with anticipation for the sleigh. For the proud reindeer to stamp and stomp, heads thrown back and bells jingling. For the workers whose fingers were cramped and broken, from working nigh impossible hours for one night of magic, to stand and smile as that bulging sack was taken to the sky.

But Louis stood next to Niall, fingers threaded through his, eyes downcast as he watched his once proud little fawn walk past with no acknowledgement. There was no sleigh driver, no jolly red man, and the sleigh took to the skies with no parade, just a sad flight as the workshop doors slammed shut, sealed against all those who worked there.

The doors never opened again, at least not for the families who lived there. It only opened, quickly and silently, at the dusky sunset of the twenty fourth, long enough for the sleigh to pull through, filled with presents that no one made.

It was three Christmases until Louis left. He had pulled Niall aside, to that old lamp post, which no longer glowed, the oil having not been refilled in years. His blue eyes had been sad, and if Niall was to ever paint regret and a melancholic feeling it would be that shade of blue, light, reflecting the snow, dancing as though avoiding looking at Niall directly, as though making that deep a contact would break all his resolve. His voice was trembling, and yet strong, determined.

‘I’m leaving. This here, this is broken, and it’s not getting better. Everyone is struggling, can’t you see. Our spirits are broken, there is no life here anymore. I’m going to England, I’m going to pretend that I’m human, and I’m not the only one. But I can’t do it with you. Because Niall you are everything good about this place. You are Christmas, and I can’t do that.’

Niall wishes that Louis had left it there, had turned and disappeared into the swirling snow and growing darkness. He wished he had never said those three little words, and pressed his lips gently against Niall’s forehead. But Louis had, and Niall would never forgive him for it.

His thick Burberry coat circled his chest, fingers tightly covered by leather gloves. For all the warmth that they provided, he was never truly as warm as he once had been. Human craftsmanship simply lacked the love, they didn’t have the skill to weave their heart into fabric, as the elves once had done. But still, Niall walked, fashionably human, hand trembling as he knocked on the thick wooden doors. The paint was faded and chipped away, undetectable to the eye that didn’t know to look for the detail, but Niall could still see the tiny slivers of red and white that clung stubbornly to so few grains.

The irony that he would find himself here, resume and paperwork in his bags, degrees from various universities, gained time and time again, each different as Niall was forced to move on, the fact that he was perpetually young eventually gaining some questioning glances. He had a degree in Engineering from Massachusetts, studied fashion in Milan, design in Tokyo, and then Communications in Sydney, Business the Czech Republic, he moved, bounced between countries, but never to England, not until his final cycle, when he found himself drawn to the old country.

He tried to avoid the major cities, and although his knew that Louis had run away, he never found the other boy. It had been almost three decades since he had last seen him, and he couldn’t help but wonder how Louis felt whenever he heard the familiar sounds of bells and the smell of peppermint. Every time he heard the chords and lyrics calling for the most famous reindeer, Niall wondering if Louis still got that tiny proud smile on his face, his eyes twinkling with the soft acknowledgement that his little fawn was something special. And then Niall would stop thinking, dashing all thoughts except for where his next adventure would take him.

It took him to the School of Mathematics and Computing at the University of Wolverhampton. It was here he met Liam, the first human that he actually felt some connection to, as they would sit in their dorm rooms late at night, talking about nothing and everything, Niall watching as the humans cheeks would grow steadily redder, using that as his gage for rambunctiousness as the twisting taste of alcohol sat on his tongue but not his mind.

The echo of the knock on the solid wood did nothing to calm Niall’s nerves, his fingers brushing through his hair, lingering on his ears, the tapered point now rounded, no indication that he was not human, that he had once stood in the woods behind his shoulders, that he was once an elf. He had cried the night he had got the surgery, his fingers desperately rubbing the tips of his ears, trying to never forget his identity, and even now if he closed his eyes, that air beneath his fingers would solidify and he would remember who he is.

‘Hello.’

The word was accompanied by the scape of a door opening, and Niall forced his eyes open, looking past the stranger that had answered the door. Beyond him was a lobby, so similar to the ones in New York City, where Niall had sat, knee bouncing, waiting for an interview with a small magazine. It had been a phase, where his recipes for baked goods had graced those pages, humans raving and the recipes passed around until each edition was torn and ratty, the recipes memorised and then thrown away. The yearlong stint as a journalist had seen him share the secrets oh his people, and he wondered how many elf hands had found a copy of the print, had seen the traditional combinations of nutmeg and cinnamon and cursed his name for sharing their secrets.

The voice cleared and Niall focused finally on the man who had opened the door. He was tall, long brown hair falling around his face, his eyes too green. When Niall looked at them he was reminded of holly, of trees, of thin leather straps and tiny golden bells. He didn’t understand how someone’s eyes could be so wholly Christmas, especially here, the very place where Christmas no longer had any meaning.

His face was angular too, angular enough that Niall could see the ghost of Louis dance in the back of his mind. The man seemed almost elfin, willowy with long fingers and full lips that were stretched into a smile that was fast becoming an impatient grimace.

‘I’m Niall, I have an interview.’ Niall’s own voice echoed, seeming oddly wrong in this surrounding. His Scandinavian accent was gone, replaced with an Irish lilt.

He had waited until the village was almost abandoned until he left. Even his parents, and gentle kiss about his cheek, and a soft beg to join them had left. Niall tried to keep it together, changing the broken light globes, to keep the gentle twinkle of Christmas lights alive, cooking gingerbread cookies in the old stone ovens, whilst sipping eggnog and singing Christmas carols to himself. But soon he admitted that he couldn’t stay. That to hold on to a dream that was broken and destroyed would only break him. And so he finally left, flitting away to Ireland, so close to where Louis had run, but far enough that he could rebuild himself, find himself, before he set off around the world, to build on all his experiences.

He followed the man into a room, a tiny tinsel tree sitting atop the desk. As he sat, the other bought his hands to rest, clasped, in front of his mouth, those green eyes looking through Niall, and Niall tried to cloud the fear and nostalgia that he knew was reflected deep within his blue.

‘You have the most fascinating eyes, even if you’re smiling they tell the truth.’ Liam had pointed that out to him, one evening in December, after few shots. He had leaned in close, and Niall had sat there, heart beating, as Liam had tenderly stroked his cheekbone, the dull scent of alcohol tickling Niall’s nose.

They were close, too close, and Niall could feel his carefully designed defences slowly falling, the smile slipping from his face, his lips open in a pout, breath slipping through with a tiny hiss. He fell back onto his elbows, Liam sitting across his lap, brown eyes blown, and tinsel wrapped around his neck. The Christmas tree in their dorm sat, still undecorated, except for a few lone ornaments. It was white, and Niall had insisted that all the decorations be bright, unnatural in colour, thoroughly modern. Liam had only shrugged, not understanding that it couldn’t be traditional, Niall couldn’t look at a green fir, adorned with gold, silver and red. Those colours together, they would fade to grey in his mind, as much as he wanted to remember, it still hurt to remember his village, broken and grey.

He could feel the linen of the sheet crumple beneath his fingers, steady fingers still running across his face, the soft tremble of fingertips embracing the hollow beneath his eyes, trailing across his eyelashes. It was so sensitive, each touch sending tingles down Niall’s spine, and Liam’s unwavering gaze in his. So brown, so warm, so different to any other eyes that had seen through Niall, that actually looked beyond his smile, that knew to look to his eyes, that Niall felt truly knew him.

He could not remember the moment when he had twisted his fingers into Liam’s shirt, and pulled him down, clashing their lips together in the action of a drunken kiss. The other boy simply reacted, and Niall felt the smallest glimmer of doubt, but as the heat of the kiss deepened, fingers pressing against his hips, leaving small bruises and causing Niall to gasp, he gave in. He may not have been drunk, but he was lost. It was new experience, one not so intractably entwined with Christmas and his past. It was action and reaction, emotion and no thought. Fingers brushing along skin, painting sinfully in a way that would be bashfully silent in the morning, and a memory that lingered forever.

It was a family owned business, the man, voice lingering on the word family, clearing his throat and coughing before continuing, explaining how his father owned the company, and that Niall’s job was to supervise the machines in the workshop. His vast experience and knowledge of computers and engineering had caught there eye, and it had been enough for them to accept his request for an interview. The interview was but a formality, and the job was offered immediately, and Niall felt his stomach twist.

He was going to work in the workshop. But was it really the workshop anymore. He wondered if this was all a terrible idea, another dream that he would have to watch flicker out. He was standing at the balcony now, staring down at the floor, which was a sea of robots and machinery, no originality as millions of identical items were produced. There was no magic, no love. This was cold, emotionless, this was business.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and looked up to see those green eyes, eyes that were somehow alive in this cold world of steel.

‘My name is Harry by the way.’

Its weeks before he asks, working away silently. His fingers are constantly covered with ink and oil, his nice clothes forgotten for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, the workshop kept perpetually warm. There is no evidence of Christmas except for that tiny tinsel tree in Harry’s office, and Niall has not met any other workers. It’s just him and Harry. The taller man often stands by the balcony, eyes resting at the landscape painted of the tree tops out the window, giving Niall only customary glances that seem to linger whenever Niall meets his eyes.

He knows there are others here, Harry is constantly interrupted by his phone, disappearing from the room, summoned to meetings well beyond the realm of Niall’s access. Whenever he is gone, Niall feels more alone, able to hear his own heartbeat echo through the room, bouncing off the endless machines.

His father once walked these floors, with friends around him, their fingers constantly moving, smiles tugging at their lips as they set aside each finished piece. There was a list, kept so carefully and updated constantly, by the elves that ran the post office. Each letter to Santa was read, the deepest desires of a child was noted, and every elf knew how to make Christmas just that little bit special.

Niall had never been fascinated by the Post Office, but he respected it. His mother had worked there, and as a young child he had watched with fascination, perched stop the counter. Back then letters had been delivered by horses and boats, yet Niall had never seen anyone deliver a letter to the village, rather they would simply appear, on mottled yellow paper, ink blots and writing in so many different languages. The gentle smell of parchment and fresh ink, the flurry of elves cataloguing and double checking to make sure no child was forgotten. All this work, to simply make sure each child got what they wanted for Christmas.

‘What would you like for Christmas?’

The question had caught Niall completely unaware when Liam had asked it. They had been walking through the local mall, and Niall had been distracted, watching as some old man, dressed in a suit made from polyester smiled for photos and talked with children. The real jolly man would never have worn such a cheap material, rather he wore a flowing coat made from dyed furs and rich velvet, leather and golden embellishments. But yet this imposter created an illusion, these children did not know he was not real, and that image allowed the magic to survive, and Niall could feel the soft smile across his face.

He looked back at Liam, the other boy waiting, face expecting for Niall’s answer. But Niall really did not know what to say. He had never received a Christmas gift, by his very nature he wanted to give, to create and watch the joy on the faces of others when he gave them their presents. He had never once considered what he wanted, and the only gift he had ever received, a tiny necklace with a medallion engraved with a poinsettia was long gone, thrown into the oceans where it couldn’t remind Niall of the person who had given it to him.

He had simply smiled, honestly and openly, and told the other that he would be happy with anything that he received, because he knew that Liam had chosen it with him in mind.

Niall isn’t sure when he starts eating his lunch with Harry, but he finds himself sitting alone with those green eyes, a comfortable silence as they eat together. Niall hums under his breath, a catchy tune that always plays on his mind, and Harry just stares at him.

‘I thought it would be different you know, more magical. This doesn’t feel like Christmas.’

It’s the first time Niall has acknowledged it, and he sees the sadness in Harry’s eyes, and feels the rhythm of their hearts align. The slump of his shoulders and the sigh on his lips show a longing that can’t be copied, that Niall can relate to. It’s the longing of someone who has truly seen the magic of Christmas, and wonders if they will ever see it again.

‘It didn’t used to be like this. Before my dad took over, it was different. But it was the eighties, greed was good, and he thought he could make the process more efficient. I guess he succeeded, but he lost something too.’

They didn’t discuss anymore, the tone of Harry’s voice suggesting that the conversation was final, and instead it steered toward Niall’s travels, and his favourite places in the world, and as he described Mullingar, the place that he told Harry was home, he could hear the longing in Harry’s voice when he expresses a desire to one day see those emerald green fields himself.

Niall had taken Liam to Mullingar, but it was hardly a trip he wished to remember. He knew that his time in this era of his life had been drawing to a close, and he was already looking to move on, to find his next adventure. The only difference was that this time there was a chain, tied loosely around his ankle, but tight enough that he knew cutting it off to free himself would hurt.

He had kissed Liam’s jaw, murmuring the word sorry over and over, the fresh country air curling around their bodies, the brush of the misting rain settling on their hair, and the green grass tickling their ankles. Liam had simply hugged him, allowing Niall to tuck his head against his collarbone, Liam’s fingers brushing across Niall’s back. He told him that he knew that it was going to end, that Niall would disappear, like light fading, a golden sunset into an inky sky. Niall cried, tears slipping down his face, Liam’s fingers linger against his cheeks and he kissed him once more, and then he was gone, and Niall walked the cobbled road to his next life.

Harry no longer watched Niall work from the balcony, but rather he wandered the steel maze, lingering behind him, fingers brushing against the cold metal. Niall asked him once, between their mindless talk of music and travel, why his father had never come to meet him, why Harry was the only employee he had seen.

Harry’s voice was faraway when he answered, telling Niall that his father hadn’t wanted to hire him, that he was adamant that this was a family business. He hesitated, more words rolling across his tongue, but he didn’t speak them, until Niall met his gaze, open and encouraging.

‘When he took over the business, it was messy, a lot of people lost their jobs, ruined so many lives with his greed. But it really was a family business, the owner before him was his father, my grandfather.’

There was a wistful admiration when Harry spoke of his grandfather, and the soft turn of his lips, the way his green eyes wavered in his memories, and Niall felt his breath catch, and he wanted to know about this mysterious grandfather. Who was this man who had all of Harry’s respect, when his own father was spoken of with a tone of distaste? Niall could feel the tendrils of hatred curls around in his stomach, whenever Harry spoke of his father, the way his face would fall, lips curl and nostrils flare, and yet Harry would always disappear to his ever absent father’s call.

Sometimes when Niall lay there late at night, he would think about how some of the cues of Harry’s stories did not make sense. His wistful disposition to the way Christmas used to be, and yet he should not have been born, if his age was any indication, until at least a decade after his father had taken over the business. And Niall knew, he knew that when he had wandered away from his village, he had been met with big hair and living on a prayer, and that that meant that Harry’s father had taken over around the time the village had died. But these thoughts gave him a headache, and he feel asleep, to the memories of the red and white doors slamming shut for the first time that Christmas over thirty years ago.

Harry had disappeared again, and Niall had not work to do, the steel machines working perfectly, each creating another identical item that was whisked away to the sack somewhere, and he was sick of hiding away in the ghost of the workshop, hearing the echoes of elfin laughter. His steps were light, his fingers nimble, as he tiptoed from the room, and down an unknown corridor, uncertain as to how many people may be around to catch his secret journey.

The familiar scent of hay and fur, of damp sawdust and fresh wood drew his path, each step more and more certain until he found himself before a tall wooden door, labelled as the stable in elegant cursive writing. He pushed it open, not even caring for the creak, his heart thumping as he heard the soft snorts and pawing hooves.

He walked down, fingers brushing against the nose of each reindeer, looking each in the eye.

‘On Dasher, on Dancer, on Prancer and Vixen, and Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen.’ He murmured, each reindeer bowing in acknowledgment as he hushed their name, until he stood before the final door. He stood tall, his strong broad shoulders at Niall’s chest, his head bowed, eyes aware and intelligent as he looked at the boy before him, grunting in recognition, and pushing his bright nose against Niall’s cheek. Fingers curled against the reindeer’s neck, and Niall hugged him, holding the little fawn tight, the course fur brushing against his skin.

Louis had helped Niall climb over the fence, hushing the giggles that slipped for his lips as they left silent footprints in the snow. Their hands twirled together, tight and secure, and Louis pulled Niall along, his cheeks flushed and smile bright. You have to see my little fawn Niall, that is what he had declared, leaning against the patchwork quilt on Niall’s wooden bed, and prompting the blond elf to wake up. It was early, the sun feebly throwing light across the horizon, but even in the early morning glow, there was no mistaking the bright red, illuminating the face of the little fawn, his knees knobby and legs long, a sound of happiness in his throat as he spotted Louis.

‘This is Rudolph Niall, this is my little fawn.’

Niall had visited Rudolph so many times after that, usually dragged along by Louis, but sometimes by himself. He was sit there, the little fawn and then the young buck, nestled beside him, and he would talk, talk about everything. He would talk about Louis, his father, about his dreams to make toys in the workshop, about how the post office was in a flutter and how the gingerbread had been burnt, how someone forgot to pack away the eggnog and it had spoiled. Everything, that reindeer had always listened, as Niall threaded his fingers through the course fur, head buried against his neck.

He had forgotten how he had lost a friend that day. It the confusion and heartbreak, Niall had not realised that he had lost the little fawn, the little fawn that was Louis but was also his, and now simply holding him, he felt as though a piece of Christmas had been restored, some proof that not all had changed and that some of the magic continued to thrum around them.

‘I haven’t seen him react like that to anyone since Louis.’

Harry’s soft voice carried through the room, and Niall froze. Awareness washed over him, and he took a deep breath, fingers uncurling from Rudolph’s fur, and turned around.

Harry’s hair was pulled back, in a messy bun, revealing the tips of his pointed ears. Pointed ears which Niall had forgotten what they looked like, his own ear tingling, a reminder of what they no longer were. Harry stepped forward cautiously, hand reaching out ready to steady Niall should he run.

‘You smell like cinnamon you know, it confirmed my suspicions, but I knew I wouldn’t forget that face. You stand out from the crowd, I should know I used to watch the parade from my room above the workshop. But I knew you were an elf from the day I hired you, why do you think my father hasn’t met you. He thinks that I hired a human, someone disposable, if he knew that there was an elf in the workshop he would quite possibly kill me.’

Harry was an elf. Harry’s father was the reason that Christmas had lost its magic. He closed his eyes. He finally had a person to blame, someone responsible for the cobwebs and broken houses of his village, the reason that elves had vanished, run away across the globe and hidden among the humans, their only means of survival. He remembered Harry’s hatred, the wistful longing for Christmas as it used to be, and the spat out words greed is good. And yet he spoke none of this.

‘Your grandfather was Saint Nicholas.’

It made sense, Santa Claus, an elf. How else was someone to have created this empire, built from love and goodness? But even elves weren’t immortal, and Saint Nicholas was timeless even to Niall.

‘Did he pass away, is this why all this happened?’

Harry only smiled, small and regretful, his eyes flashing with a much darker emotion.

‘They said he passed away in his sleep, old age. It’s possible, I have my own theories, and greed is good after all.’

The suggestion turned Niall’s stomach. Murder. No it was more than murder, it was the destruction of purity, of light and life, of magic. It was the destruction of Christmas for personal gain, for greed.

He stepped forward, fingers pulling determinedly on Harry’s hand, the taller man turning his head down to face him. His face was hard, and Niall didn’t even need to speak, they both knew and they both agreed, that they were going to change Christmas, they were going to bring back the magic. Niall, the boy whose father had once said, ‘Niall, one day that will be you. You will be the one changing Christmas, and making the magic grow.’ He doubted that his father ever knew the extent of those words, of the truth that Niall was now determined to make of them. And Harry, who blood thrummed with the magic of the saint of Christmas, whose very soul was so intrinsically ensnared by the holiday that his eyes danced with the greens and golds of a decorated tree.

It was then that finally Niall met the other employees, a few elves, hidden away by Harry throughout the years, tracked down and bought home. They each had made that walk through the fragmented village, had stepped into the workshop that was once the beacon of their hopes, and saw the desolation of their broken reality. There were humans, old and wearied, but driven by youthful vitality that only Christmas can bring. It was a mutiny, and Harry’s father was driven from the workshop, the doors slammed on him, like he slammed them on the workers so many years ago.

There was no more fear, Harry had been too young back then, old enough to understand that what was happening was wrong but too young to be able to adequately stop it. But now it was a new era.

The first step had been to revitalise the village, the panels that boarded up the windows pulled down, and the broken glass replaced. Niall had stood in his childhood home, the cobwebs and dust swirling around, catching the filtering light, and he just breathed. Breathed in the memories of hot chocolate and his father’s words, of his mother coming home late from the post office, tittering about how many children wanted a baseball bat or a doll. Of his own collection, sitting atop a shelf in his room, the toys that he hadn’t given away to Louis.

He could hear Harry step in behind him, and then walk past him, his long nimble fingers catching upon the dusty ringlet of a tiny doll.

‘These are beautiful.’

And his face was filled with such wonder, wonder that Niall had never seen when one gazed upon his dolls that he could just stand there, stand there and stare at those bright green eyes, and the crooked smile, looking at Niall’s heart, the very things that Niall had put his entire essence into creating, and here was Harry looking at them like they were the best thing he had ever seen.

He took two steps across the room, and threw his arms around Harry’s waist, his head burying against Harry’s back, and the taller man simply placed his hands over Niall’s, squeezing them tightly like he never wanted to let go.

This was different from Louis, with all his angles and proud eyes. This was different from Liam, with his generosity and gentle goodbye. This was real, it was unbreakable.

Slowly, the elves began to return. Niall never sobbed harder than when he heard the unmistakable tone of his father’s voice, the stocky body pushing his way through the crowd to hold onto his son. Proud. He said that word over and over again. ‘I’m so proud of you son, I knew you would be more than anyone else.’

On Christmas Eve, the sky was clear, a soft powdery snow falling gently, moonlight slipping through and highlighting the wreaths that sat prettily on the lampposts.The rambunctious laughter bounced through the street, as everyone wandered through the forest, toward the freshly painted workshop walls, waiting for the first parade in three decades.

Niall had his fingers tangled in the leather belt, trying to tack up the reindeer to the sleigh, when nimble and trained hands took it from him, threaded the strap around Blitzen’s neck with a practised ease.

‘Fancy seeing you here Nialler.’ The tone was so light, but Niall could hear the hesitation, as tiny footsteps tittered away, before stopping, Niall knew, in front of his little fawn.

When Niall looked at Louis, he felt no hatred, just a love that glowed dimly, a love for a friend, his best friend that he had missed sorely. Feelings any greater than that had disappeared, and he stepped forward, giving the angular elf a hug.

‘Missed you Lou.’

‘Ready to go Niall?’

Harry stepped into the room, a cheap red Santa hat on his head, and smile brighter than Rudolph’s nose, as he held out his hand to Niall, and invited him to join him in the sleigh.

The doors opened, and the swirl of snow rushed in, the reindeer pawing at the ground until Harry clicked the reins and they were moving. It was a swirl of colours, faces blending into the crowd, the procession of elves who had worked tirelessly to bring back Christmas waving to the crowds.

Hs stomach dropped, and the round gave way, his heart pumping an the tingle of excitement could be felt in his fingertips, as he leaned closer to Harry, eyes reaching out to see the tiny village below them. The tiny lights, twinkling, winking at him, stars on the ground and stars in the sky, reaching out to infinity.

And there was just Harry. Harry and his bright green eyes, his fingers brushing against Niall’s cheek, and pulling the other boy in close. Lips resting against Niall’s ear, his breath light and gentle, a tiny laugh underneath as he whispered.

‘Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night.’

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Tara. Because we first talked about it too many years ago. And its been promised every Christmas ever since, and its finally finished. I hope it lives up to everything that you hoped for.
> 
> Merry Christmas Everyone!


End file.
